


Finding Sanctuary

by MidnightHeir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet/Realistic Ending, Dark and twisty nightmare scenarios with possible mild gore and mind games., Dub-consent: angelic possession, JimmyBigBang2012, Minimal Winchesters, Second hand re-telling of an angelic massacre.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightHeir/pseuds/MidnightHeir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**AU S7 veers off by end of 7.03**  </p><p>The angels spoke to Claire for so long, pestering, questioning and interrogating her for more than two years. That was until the day her father’s face became a viral video and their empty promises became terrified cries that faded into silence. Now Claire dreams in monotone and knows things no one <i>really</i> should about monsters that disappeared long ago.  Oh and sometimes she wonders what happened to Cas.</p><p>(<i>Some</i> events from 7.04 through 7.07 have happened in the background. 7.08 onwards are to be completely disregarded.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Sanctuary

In the great tradition of the last period before lunch all eyes in the classroom were trained to the wall clock. _Tick-tick-tick._

“To recap, electrons orbit the nucleus in orbits that have a set size and energy, the energy of the orbit is related to its size _and_ the _lowest_ energy is found in the _smallest_ orbit.” 

In a second time honored tradition of all bored students the world over Claire continued to doodle idly in the margin of her chemistry notes. A circle with a jagged lightning bolt scrawled in the lower left quarter with a backwards three for extra decoration. Above it was the most highly decorative squiggle she’d ever divined. Intersecting lines that sprouted off into tiny haphazard shapes which dared to cross the margin-note line and disappear into a diagram of an atom. What was gibberish in algebra became patterns in art building up into an elaborate design that was never quite done. A line here, a dash there; forming incomplete sequences that tickled at the tip of her tongue. Clearing her throat she looked up again, Bohr’s atoms: very important for passing the year. Focus a necessity.

“Radiation is absorbed or emitted when an electron moves from one orbit to another. Study, a test will be happening in the next seven days.” 

Honestly it was if the thing had a mind of its own. Barely noticing it, her hand was taking her pen on a fabulously wacky journey all over her note pad. With more zest than before lines and shapes were sprouting like mushrooms across the page. Slamming it down Claire reached for her bag. After three years of night time visits and poorly timed whispers Claire figured there was nothing that Heaven or The Host tm could toss her way that she couldn’t handle. ‘ _Creeper love is deeper love_ ’ .This was new. She’d grown accustomed to the idea that there might be beady eyes in her less than innocent dreams about Justin Bieber trying to find new ways to catch her out, _This_ was different and a touch freaky. A full frontal assault in the middle of the day was almost desperate.

“And you may go.” Mr Messner finished.

Claire’s hands shook, palms sweaty, and breathing sharp. What started out as a whisper that itched at the soft spot just behind the ear grew into a persistent buzz interfering with her concentration and focus. Book in bag, pen sent spiralling across the table to bounce onto the floor. Packing away her things she smiled brightly at her class mate. “I’ll be right out Stacie.” Teeth gritted she reached for her phone out of habit, a quick skim of Facebook before lunch for the latest gossip then out to the quad until afternoon lessons began.

‘You have 1 new message and three missed calls’

From: Mom  
To: Claire  
Sent: 11:01

Are you alright? Call me now x.

Frowning Claire tapped on the screen. Hurrying out of the path of oncoming students she brought the phone to her ear.

“Welcome to your Sprint voicemail service. You have three new messages. First message: honey I want you to go to Gram Sally after school. Something might be outside the house.” Amelia’s disembodied voice reported. “If you would like to repeat the message press 2, to delete press 3, for features and settings press 4.to save press 5.” Secreted between a wall of lockers decorated in school pride and hastily scrawled declarations of love Claire pressed ‘3’. “I haven’t taken the survival bag out of your trunk so everything you need should be right there. I want you to get an extra bag of rock salt, a water bottle and use the emergency credit card for funds,” she told her. “Leave school _now_.” Through the earpiece Claire heard her mom’s sigh. “Don’t worry about me I’ve got the spare one here, I’ll call you. If you would like to re-...” Heart pounding in her chest Claire struck ‘3’ again. “False alarm. Come home honey. End of messages. You have no new messages.”

Numbed she walked towards her locker, pulled out her lunchbox and netbook to shove into her bag, tugged the flap close and meandered towards the nearest exit phone still precariously gripped in hand. 

“Claire!” 

“I have a, er family emergency.” Claire stuttered walking out the door barely registering Stacie at her side. “My mom, she’s erm …” Drawing in a deep breath she glanced over, schooling her features into a mask. This wasn’t television and she wasn’t Buffy. There was simply no good time or easy way to sit a person down and tell them how incredibly complicated and petty the supernatural world was. “I got to go.”

*-*-*

**WHO IS THIS MAN?**  
 _Is this one of the most elaborate hoaxes of modern time? Yesterday, in what can only be described as a day to remember of countless ‘miracles’, murders and mayhem, a single man was reported to be responsible for everything from a bloody slaughter to the healing of the blind. Sighted in over thirteen different states and with at least two confirmed appearances in Europe people are beginning to speculate whether this is a prank gone horrifically wrong. The man, reported to be James Novak, 38, of Pontiac Illinois disappeared from his home over three years ago and is described as a family man with strong religious views by a source at his previous place of employment. If seen the public are advised to not approach and contact local authorities immediately._

Instinctively Claire’s shoulders hunched down and the front page discarded. Three pages in a second smaller article in a side column piqued her interest.

**HOME INVASION IN QUIET SURBURB LEAVES NEIGHBORHOOD SHAKEN**

Two lines in and she crushed the paper between her palms revelling in the warm satisfaction that bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Caught under the strip lighting of a gas stop store Claire pressed herself up against the vacant space by a shelf of canned vegetables. In spite of having her hands shoved into the depths of her baggy pockets she could feel the bite of clammy palms. Anxiety threaded through her nervous system, igniting each cluster with a barely containable twitch. It didn’t matter if she was imagining it or not, her exposed back felt like it had a good old weighty target strapped onto it right now. Sweat and cheap alcohol filtered through the air of the gas stop store, the intermittent sound of her rapid heartbeat punctuated by the infrequent buzz of the door being automatically triggered to open with each new customer.

It’s easier said than done; planning for a road trip of indeterminable length. Sure she’d sat with her friends at lunch and they’d fantasised about the open road and parent-free living. Stranded in a Sip-N-Go on the way out of town had a way of killing the adventure. Grimacing Claire threw in a can of good old reliable Heinz Baked Beans before lugging her wares to the till. “Bag of rock salt and Tydenol too.” A tight smile spread over her face while cold fingers pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

Out in the car Claire stared at the second bag stuffed in the back of the trunk, with a bag of rock salt now thrust upon it like a blanket. A handy holdall for all your unfortunate demonic or angelic needs, crow bar, water, a few hastily written chants and a little Enochian mumbo-jumbo. Digging out a sharpie from her school bag Claire tugged the trunk door of her Prius down. In the corner of the rear window she began, the lines and circles coming out like water from an open tap. Bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight and surrounded by vapors of gasoline anxiety evaporated to be replaced by the stark relief that something so natural and human could provide. Fervently she worked, an echo of a previous time small devils traps leading into ornate abstract, jagged, asymmetrical shapes. Time continued to tick past and her art spread from the outer edge towards the center of the pane.

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” Lips pressed together in concentration split apart, head jerked to one side and up to view the attendant.

“Are, you okay?”

Blinking slowly Claire turned back to her art. “I’m.” ‘ _confused_ ’ “fine.” Forcing a smile she moved briskly to the driver’s seat and disappeared inside. Releasing a held breath Claire jarred the key into the ignition and pulled away.

*-*-*

Air rushed round her ankles, spiralled up splayed exposed flesh to dance in her hair. It kissed the back of her neck and ran down across the forefront of the cheesy virginal white smock Claire always seemed to be sporting these days. Blues meshed with silvery greys to expand and contract before pulling together to form statues of spectacularly bizarre creatures. Reared up on two legs a unicorn perched atop a globe, from behind trees peeked monkeys and elves their eyes locked onto her silhouette. Wrapped in their tails hung decorated crystalline balls. Held proudly in the hands of satyr two perfect spheres – exactly like the others blue and decorated with the outline of continents and polar caps. Crisp strands of grass poked up to tickle at her feet with every step taken. It was like stumbling into Alice In Wonderland without the spooky twins. Again a second gust of wind swept through spinning precariously balanced creatures about until they faced away from her. Edging closer to the collection of monkeys cracks began to appear all around her, soft edges grew pointed and barbed cutting into the balls of her feet. 

“Hello?” 

Viscous dark liquor began to ooze from the cracks coating the blue earths littered round her. From the orifices of the animals black slime continued to bubble up with a sickening _pop-pop-pop_. Each tiny sound serving to punctuate and highlight the quiet that hung over this place. Facial features distorted and mis-aligned shattering at the edges of the statues by pointed fangs that tore through. Bursting bubbles splattered the slime across the body of the unicorn, separating out into familiar Enochian scrawl. “No, no, no!” Fake-blood from dream wounds trickled down to merge with the pool of liquid that was beginning to flood the entire area. Blue earths were swallowed whole with the animals that had held or played with them, swept away in a wave of slime. 

Distorted by distance and completely inhumane, a voice taunted her, “Claire.”

Pulling back Claire sought the entrance from this screwed up garden of messed up Eden. Heart pounding and lungs gasping for air her hands wrapped round the edges of a mysteriously stationed lamppost and she pulled, thrashed and fought her way clear.

Wrapped in a sleeping bag liner and summer blazer Claire jerked upright in the back of her car. A hand hung over her thundering heart and Claire willed it to cease and desist, it was just a dream. A freaky, funky new style dream to go with the weird panic that’d swallowed her whole before she left home. There were no monsters out to get her, no demons lurking in the pre-dawn shrubbery. This was a hiccup in the scheduled programming of her almost normal teenage life. 

Tomorrow night there’d be a motel, a bed, some real food, and a destination. This ungodly hour in the morning she’d sit in the back of her car and do what any other self respecting girl her age would do - play Angry Birds. 

*-*-*

Sal’s Sunnyside Motel and Michelle its night manager had zero right to be this cheery at this time in the morning. Claire was calling it: pod-person observing the ways of humans before trying to take over. An interesting idea if not for all the chaos her uneasy gut was telling her would follow. Rolling her car to a halt in a feat of driving that would make all the guys everywhere laugh, Claire stumbled out and wandered in pulling her sweat stained blazer round her skanky figure. Lank hair with greasy roots was a look she was absolutely going to bring back. Huddled in the lobby a thin smile pasted across her washed out face she waited for Michelle to come bounding back out of the rear like the enthusiastic Labrador puppy she must’ve been in a previous life.

“Now this is ya room key, that’s 218 just go out the door long to the end of the row and ya’ll find yourself tuckered right into the corner.” Michelle waved the cracked plastic tog in Claire’s face. “Breakfast is in a couple of hours if ya feel like staying up. Just hop over to the diner and tell them ya staying with us. Check out’s spot on eleven, money’s upfront.”

“Thank you. I’m lookin-.”

“Things to do? Of course, brochures are all stacked over there. Maps and gas from the truck stop two miles north up the interstate.”

Digging deep Claire mustered up all the shattered scraps of strength she could find left in her exhausted frame, “An ATM actually.” She countered. 

Michelle had the decency to look flustered, “The truck stop is probably the best bet for that too, Honey.”

At a worn table that reeked of polish Claire stopped to collect brochures. State fairs, small towns left to ruin by the interstate when it was built to completely bypass them. Slices of nostalgia and whimsy scattered over a water damaged surface, neatly alphabetized in a plastic and wire wall hanging directly behind it. The tip of one finger flicked over the edges, separating out pamphlet after pamphlet looking for some kind of blind inspiration. An omen of where to go or what to do next would be especially awesome. Ghost hunts and flower shows advertised side by side. Taking them both she walked out into a parking lot with the infrequent scent of burnt coffee and fried eggs wafting over it.

A thread bare carpet, lumpy mattress with a faint tinge of bleach clogging up musty air, gross didn’t even begin to cover it. Curled atop starched sheets Claire stared blankly at the window, early morning light casting grey shadows over her. Leaflets scattered across the bedspread their pages folded and torn. Beneath her grip stiff cotton gathered to be smoothed out again. Mom was laying low with no idea of what was going on or how to get her back. No contact because there was no safe way of checking in. She’d pray except there was no sign that anyone was listening. More cloth pressed between her fingers stretched taut under the pressure. Senior year of high school was meant to be Hell not some on the fly trip. Stifling a yawn she pressed her head down into the crook of her arm. This sucked. 

*-*-*

The forecourt was crowded with cars by the time Claire arrived. Peering out from beneath the flap Claire caught a glimpse of her gaunt features in the rear view mirror. Mascara and blush couldn’t hide the dark bags that hung beneath her eyes or the haunted expression that lurked beneath her gaze. Claire ran her fingers through her hair tugging it back into a crude ponytail. Sooner or later she’d sleep through the night and make up for some of the blagh that was weighing her down. 

Unlike the last store this one buzzed with energy. Strangers milled and loitered about picking up gum, reading headlines before shoving the papers back into the stand, gaze set on the timestamp on the security tape pitched up above the attendant’s head. Here Claire disappeared into the cramped space and throng. Ears picked up words that washed over her. Arms wrapped round her middle Claire targeted candy and twizzlers scooping them up in her palm. Balanced against her front she hit up the magazine stand next deliberately bypassing the papers and their follow up expose on her dad. 

Icy air blasted out of the cooler when collecting strawberry milk bringing goose bumps up across her forearms. Condiments balanced, Claire caught the lip of the fridge door with the toe of her foot. With a neat jerk the door swung back on itself, capturing the reflection of another customer nearby. Black-grey smoke billowed under the faded image of a guy standing behind her. Stunned Claire side stepped her back banging into the next fridge in the row while cold fear tore through the pit of her stomach. Eyes locked onto him looking for confirmation of the demon she’d seen there.

“Can I help you?”

“It’s …” smooth human skin and sceptical human eyes glanced at her. “Nothing.” Claire shook her head pushing the image to the back of her mind. 

_’Great’_ A side order of crazy to go with exhaustion and lousy hair. Claire snagged an atlas from a stack by the register and paid for her stuff. 

“Alright then.” Time to kick this adventure up a gear and make a plan! Pen out she flipped the book over in her hands, folding the back cover on itself to read through the index. Tip of the ballpoint skimmed over the page putting little asterisks by names that made her smile. _‘Blue Earth, MI?_ ’ Brows knitted together trying to place it; geographically speaking the county was pretty huge. “Blue Earth.” Sounding the words out Claire grinned her eye drawn to the town of the same name. There was a familiarity to it, a _homeliness_ that less than a week on the road had left her yearning for. “Aw Man.” 

She was going to need more gas.

*-*-*

_Welcome To Blue Earth. Population: 3209_

Driven into the ground on a wooden stake a home made sign had been placed, twenty one of the most reassuring letters carefully painted on. 

_The Safest Place On Earth._

It was single-handedly the most comforting thing that Claire had seen in days.

Silvery mist hung over the skyline, shrouding the green-black heads of tall trees in a protective blanket. Unlike the fair weather she’d encountered for the best part of her ‘adventure’ the change in temperature made everything feel more grounded. Up and down the streets buildings were haphazardly strewn, their fronts painted white and their signs remarkably quaint. Laced between familiar store fronts Claire spotted quaint throwbacks to pictures in her history textbook. “Ye Olde Barre?” Head ducked down to peer round the rear view mirror shaking back and forth ever so slightly. At the periphery of her vision a grocery store was tucked two actual doors down. This place was amazing with such a tender old fashioned buzz to it. People walked up and down the sidewalk carrying brown paper bags loaded with stuff, they stopped and they talked just like they did back at her home. 

It wasn’t obvious at first. The way people came out and criss-crossed the main street Claire drove up, or how they seemed to watch her car as it cruised by. However by the time Claire reached the intersection for either the interstate or the next town over she saw flashes of it. Faces of men who’d been walking the street two blocks over casually glancing at her car, the same three kids her age chilling at the corner, their faces neutral. Gritting her teeth Claire moved onwards eyes focused on the road ahead and fingers reflexively gripping tighter on the steering wheel. In the pit of her stomach nerves electrified and sang, blood rang in her ears. This place wasn’t safe or secure or way off the grid. This place was like that place in that movie where everyone had been inbred and ate the stragglers. She’d seen that movie and she knew the kinds of things that were really out there and Claire Ruth Novak was _not_ going to be the appetiser at some screwed up buffet. The palm of her hand caught the worn end of the indicator intent on exiting the town before she got a flat that would totally seal her doom. Fumbling with the gear stick Claire struggled to turn the car round the corner her gaze skimming over the kids on the corner, church at the end of the block and parked cars scattered up the side of the road. 

If panic was a wonderful motivator then anger was a direct line to courage. Stained glass windows glinted in daylight winking at Claire in her wing mirrors. Framed in plastic and a line of silver paint the likeness of her dad swept briefly by, stern faced and staring coldly inwards. Tyres screeched on the tarmac, Claire’s hair positively swished when she turned back to stare in disbelief, “What. The Hell?”

There was a car park, or a driveway, at the rear of the church. Claire wasn’t really sure and right now she didn’t exactly care. Popping the lid of her trunk she dumped the contents of her school bag onto the tiny patch of exposed carpet left there. Rifling through her bag of supplies Claire hauled out a half litre of holy water, her pen knife, bottle of salt, and pre-recorded exorcism. Tossing them into her shoulder bag she suited up, hand moving to her chest to check for the reassuring weight of a protective charm. Fingers wrapped round the lip of the door and tugged down, hard. This was creepy and weird and so very wrong and someone was going to tell her what was going on.

“Enochian and a little Aramaic if I’m not mistaken.” A man stood there at the hood of her car, arms folded across his chest barely hiding the hand hold walkie-talkie he had in one hand. Head tilted forward he indicated where the trunk door had been a second before. Around his neck a white dog collar was tucked into the top of a black shirt. “I haven’t seen that in a very long while.” He admitted, expression warmer than the folded arms and uneven gait might suggest. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you straight into my home. You seem a little young to be hunting.”

‘ _Hunting?_ ’ Claire’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly, “So how do we do this?” Slowly she reached into her bag hand scrabbling round for the water bottle. “I’ve got holy water.”

The tension in her host’s body evaporated with a soft laugh. “Do you now? Well I’ll drink yours if you’ll drink mine.” He placed the walkie-talkie down onto the hood followed by a small, sealed test tube of liquid. “Walk around.” 

Claire put the bottle down on the roof before edging round, her gaze remained locked onto him. Old, kind of good looking for his age, laugh lines lost amongst the wrinkles. A carefully groomed beard that was full of flecks of grey. Wetting her lips she picked up the vial digging her nail under the seal to prise it off. Sniffing at the contents Claire grimaced slightly, icy cold she poured it onto the back of her hand when the man looked across at her. Palms up, fingers splayed she waited, amazed when he took a small sip. “We’re cool now.” 

“Absolutely, I’m Pastor David Gideon.” His head tilted down studying the graffiti she’d impulsively added to her car “A demonic ward too.”

“Yea.” Biting into her lower lip she added quickly “Keeps them out my car.” 

Screwing the lid back onto Claire’s bottle Pastor Gideon turned on his heel, an arm extended out to invite her inside.

The nave of the church smelt of smoke and sandalwood. A green carpet stretched over the ground to stop by the stone steps that led up to the font. It was smaller than the one Claire went to with her parents in Pontiac, as old fashioned as the grocery store and bar. Claire slid into the third pew hands resting on the seat of the row in front. Bathed in color from the stained glass she stared at the profile of her dad. Standing, old trench coat flowing round his figure, the same cheap suit he’d worn when he’d left home over three years ago. Only to get shot in it. 

“It’s not much to look at but that’s a real honest to God angel.” Pastor Gideon told her from where he lent against the end of the pew she sat on. “Castiel and he saved this parish.”

“That’s my Dad.” Claire corrected, “Castiel’s something else. Different, scalding hot and _completely_ overwhelming.”

Carpet muffled footfalls when Gideon moved to sit near her. His clothes crumpled where he sat and rustling when he slid along until he sat within an arm’s reach of Claire. “That must be an honor. To be in service of Heaven like that.”

“It’s weird.” Absently the tips of Claire’s fingers circled near her temple. “Freaky.”

“I can’t begin to imagine.”

Words stuck to the tip of her tongue. The glass lacked cracks or remodelling, “How, _why_ is my dad in the window?” 

David’s gaze lifted from her profile to the window, a small huff of air coming from his lips. “In return for loyalty and shelter Castiel came here and un-damned the parishioners and myself.” Pausing for a moment he continued “He’d recovered much of his might.”

Claire felt her jaw clench. “They’re not the same.” She spat. “Pictures of my Dad are in the newspaper and in your window. Castiel does whatever she wants…”

“Okay, okay.” A wry smile spread, “I’ve seen the video clip, it’s not the angel I know of.” He met Claire’s gaze evenly, “That’s something else. A monster killed my daughter and stole her face not so long ago. After something like that the concept of ‘evil twins’ is easy to accept. It was no one I’m familiar with.”

Sullen faced Claire glanced down at her lap where her fingers threaded the strap of her school bag back and forth across her palms. Hair fell down over her face, frayed tips brushing over her forearms. It felt better being somewhere where she could talk about the spooky stuff that so rudely interrupted her life. 

“You look exhausted …” There was a distinct shift in the Pastor’s tone and tact, softer and kinder again.

He certainly wasn’t wrong; the color was gone from her face and she could smell the day old sweat on her skin and clothes. “Claire.” She admitted drawing hair back to tuck behind her ear sheepishly and half a tired smile spreading on her face. “I don’t have anywhere to go.” 

“There’s space in the refectory if you want somewhere secure to spend the night.” he offered, “There’s a hot shower, demon proofing, and fresh food in the cupboard.” Gideon paused, “In the morning I’ll find somewhere for you to stay.” 

Without a word Claire weighed her options. Another night alone in a lonely motel room versus the back seat of her car. A proper bed in a real building sounded rather awesome. “Okay, let me get my stuff.” 

*-*-*

In the absence of voices and madness Technicolor swirled about her. Warped and too bright it would grow into flamingos and pixies, their eyes empty glaciers and their mouths the most hideous maws. Teeth, jagged and sharp, splintered through the gaps, heads twisted on their necks watching where she walked, springing to life and searching until they found her tucked out of sight. Behind uneven fence lines, beneath weeping willows distorted creatures roamed, their beauty tainted by an ancient evil that made her skin crawl in the waking world. Bare feet pressed into damp earth carrying Claire deeper into a forest of palm trees and old oaks that was haphazardly developing as she moved. Across the bark marks appeared symbols that had infected her waking life, slipped into algebra and art formed again and again. The scent of sewage swept into the area, choking her lungs. With a hand to her face Claire desperately moved sideways no longer caring if her dream-clothes got tore up or her flesh became as contaminated as the dream-scape. “Wake up.” she hissed, eyes drawn to the sigils again. “Wake up and get out of here.” Around her ankle a barbed vine wrapped tightening fiercely to force Claire to a halt. Heaving breaths came with alarming frequency whilst fingers coiled into the thick flesh pulling sharply, off shoots sprouted coiling up Claire’s arms pulling her into a tight knot. “Let. Me. Go.” she shrieked. Forced to her knees she looked up from behind sweat soaked hair eyes once again settling down upon words. “Ra-a-gah, yi-oh-es, ve-nu-kno,” Gibberish turned to English. Claire dug her heels into the ground urgently looking for the rest, struggling back vines snapped from her forearms, “Knochi-oh-es, pe-teh, ah-ma-la dei, zug.” 

Panting hard the plant life retreated and the forest faded leaving the outline of a tiny church etched into a silvery blue backdrop. Balanced on the balls of her feet Claire stared at the outline, watched it warp and twist into the shape of a blue earth only to fragment and shatter. Brushing imaginary dirt from her arms blackness followed shortly after. 

“Oh. My. God” she groaned rolling onto her back the back of one hand slapping down onto Claire’s already sweaty forehead. In spite of bedding, hair and clothes alike stuck to her skin making the marching band doing laps on her forehead the second worst thing she was forced to deal with right then. Fumbling round on the side of the bed stand her fingers brushed the lip of the Tydenol. Steeling herself for one impromptu snatch and grab she managed to snag it without having the band in her skull add break dancing to their list of super cool tunes they were beating out. Forcing two tablets down her dried out throat she closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.

Frankly at this point, Claire had preferred the angels.

*-*-*

Loose strands of blonde hair hung round her face. It was funny really; Mom had always said she’d looked plenty healthy. Absently she tugged a brush through her hair pale eyes set upon the smudged rear view mirror. Seriously, whoever said that road trips were exciting had to be massively exaggerating because between the nightmares and the driving they were sucking the life out of her. 

“This is it huh?” Well silence might be golden for some but for Claire it was still freaky. Unlike Pastor Gideon’s place of worship this church was on the far side of town and pretty much ready to audition for a guest spot on ‘The Crazies 2’. Tossing her brush onto the passenger seat she twisted her body round to snag an already over stuffed holdall. With a final glance up to the mirror Claire killed the ignition. “I’m going in.”

Time hadn’t been kind to this place leaving weeds to sprout up where grass had probably been back in the day and lay an impressive claim to the main path leading up to the doors. Tattered, faded police tape hung across the stone arch fluttering in a gentle breeze torn down by someone long ago. Stone walls, unbroken windows, a spire; forget the modern slasher genre, this place looked like the reject from a Gothic horror. ‘ _You don’t want to be out here_ ’. Hoisting the bag onto her body Claire glanced round, the church was one hundred percent isolated compared to the cluster of buildings she’d driven past on her way through town. With no sounds of traffic from the single lane road at the end of the drive the quaint nature of the layout brought an involuntary shudder to her spine. Burying doubt with purpose Claire darted to the rear of her car to grab her tools.

Metal grated against wood forced into the niche where the doors met with the entire force a hundred and twenty pound girl could muster. What Claire lacked in finesse she was determined to compensate with sheer force of will, gritted teeth, and red cheeks. “Come on already.” She ground out for a satisfying pop that followed seconds later. First in went the bag from the trunk closely followed by the one from across her body. A final sweep of the scenery and she slipped inside, file still loosely held in her hand.

Musty, heavy air assaulted her on entrance, “You have got to be kidding me.” Claire groaned. Cautiously she dragged the edge of her file through dirt to reveal layer over compacted layers. Swinging it up to her shoulder she grabbed her holdall and glanced round. With the tip of one shoe she guided her larger bag to where an empty dresser adorned with spent red tea lights resided. With competition active on the other side of town it was easy to see why such a tiny place could have gotten this bad. Even the termites looked like they’d booked out of here. Damp and mouldy with tiny pock marks in pretty much all the wood she could see Claire cleared her throat on reflex, absentmindedly discarding the file on her distracted meander up the nave towards lectern and pulpit. A fond smile crept over her face. ‘ _Always wanted a clubhouse_ ,’ which meant the next step was to find a fuse box. 

Claire rummaged in the depths of her shoulder bag, eager eyes picking over the options. Flashlight first, lodged in between her teeth, beam directed onto the switches. In one hand she snagged a pen knife digging out a screwdriver head. Loosening the blown fuse she traded it over for a new one. Eagle Scouts and science. Tentatively Claire flicked a switch waiting for a familiar buzz of power to echo round the building. Intensifying and fading the lights flickered over head before settling down to cast out a gentle glow.

From her bag Claire pulled out her notepad, flipped past the chemistry notes and rogue Enochian to a fresh page. With a pen in one hand she began to make notes; Terminite for the wood, bleach for the floors, multivitamins and coffee for her. Rotten carpet was stretched over a hard stone floor the nailed down strip acting as a pathway to the basement. At the top of the stairs Claire paused, head cocked to one side. Focused she narrowed her eyes, the familiar sense of being watched tickled at the nape of her neck. Hesitantly she stepped down a single stair and waited. This time she heard it; a rattle amplified by the acoustics of the building to echo off the walls. “I will end you.” Claire threatened hoarsely. “I will find you and I will get some bait and I will get rid of you.” Lips pursed she waited, mentally daring the sound of skittering to come again. “There will be no rats in here!” For now it looked like the vermin population agreed. Hugging the notepad to her chest she disappeared down into the dingy basement. All she needed now was to have no signal on her cell and she’d be ready for her date with an axe murderer. 

NO SIGNAL

The universe had a sick sense of humor.

It was the room that really turned her crank. Paper, paper everywhere and not a bit of wallpaper to see. Head cocked to one side tentative fingers reached out to trace over the curled edges of yellowing paper and faded ink. Fine lines appeared around her eyes as she leant closer eyes drifting over the text. Unconsciously her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth caught in a light embrace by her teeth. ‘ _Demonic lore._ ’ Stepping back she turned around looking, really looking this time, for the missing piece of the puzzle. Accustomed to the old smell and eerie silence the muscles in her body had relaxed, heartbeat slowed and tension dissolved. The room above had a shroud of disuse draped over it, down here with daylight casting creepy shadows through the barred window and overgrown weeds it felt different. Personal, power fuelled, like she’d been led into the heart of a crypt. “This could work.” Claire murmured, the space was good, the room with its empty fixtures sporadically drilled into the stone wall and abandoned furniture provided her with a feasible working space. Nix the decay and the damp and Blue Earth’s forgotten church could make a good place to rest her head. 

Taking the steps two at a time she retrieved her survival bag hauling it up to bounce off her thighs. Amongst clouds of dust she dragged it letting it bang down the steps behind her until she was back in the old office. She dropped it onto the desk, already reaching out to try the drawers so she could start unpacking properly. Turning her head inwards she wiped beads of sweat from her brow gritting her teeth against a bitter chill that raced through the room. Okay so maybe if there were rats to go with the see-sawing temperature she’d downgrade this space to storage and thinky-thoughts instead of a 24-7 hideout. Still, with empty drawers and abandoned furniture, being off the grid made this church an attractive proposition. From her bag she pulled out a crowbar and cans of food. Arranging the tins on the table she slid the crowbar into the open drawer, quickly followed by the flashlight and pen knife. Wallet and cell phone stayed in her jeans pocket, recording of an exorcism went into the top drawer. Rock salt could stay in the trunk for now and the sleeping bag could come down here in the event it got too late to get home. Sweat and dust mixed to smear over the bridge of her nose when she wiped her face. 

Rattling in the back of a drawer Claire pulled out a plaque “Pastor James Murphy.” Letting it slip from her grasp to bang onto the floor she made her way back to the stairs. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Amongst the dust and debris Claire watched her dream’s manifest. It started in silhouette a spectral figure that wove together from the atmosphere, impeccably dressed in a swathe of black that hung to the floor. Smoothly he _glided_ across the uneven floor leaving zero trail in the dirt. Involuntarily the hairs on her exposed arms twitched with the static that built in the air, causing her to seriously reconsider the distance between her and the still open door. If she backed up now she could totally make it outside and back to her beat down Prius before he even noticed she was in the room. Steeling her breath the acrid scent of sulphur and sweat crept into the air overwhelming the less than awesome aroma of dust and damp. “Oh God,” Claire murmured on reflex wincing at the taste that caught in her throat. The soft echo of footfall thrummed through the air most definitely originating from the figure at the far end of the building. Pausing at what was once a pulpit he stopped, head tilting upwards to do something that looked suspiciously like checking out the ruined view. Beads of sweat swelled up onto Claire’s brow in anticipation of something that was going to be really, really painful. Instinctively her fingers began to coast over the surface of her worn bag searching for the can of salt she had tucked away, any second now that thing was going to stop playing chicken and make it’s move and she was going to be ready. “Come on already.” She whispered voice tight, eyes flickering from his lingering back to the only available exit in this place. 

Features began to fill in; an immaculate sweep of strawberry blonde hair and tanned skin, ears developed to fully appear giving him by far the most human appearance of any spirit Claire had ever read up on. Two limbs delineated from the long torso, the hand of one reached up in the kind of gesture that moves hair from a person’s eyes.

That was it, she was going completely nuts. ‘ _Not enough food, stress finally catching up or something_.’ There was no way that this was real. Ghosts were _never_ this friendly.

“Hello Child,” the man glanced over his shoulder to smile at her, “Welcome to my church.”

“What?”

The ghost flickered, rays of light piercing through his form before it resolidified before her. “ _Welcome_ to my church.” 

Claire tensed, nausea churning inside caused by more than mere nerves, “Pastor Murphy?” 

“More or less.” A sad smile spread, “No one visits this old place. You’ll be quite safe here.”

“You sure about that?” 

“As sure as I am salvation was created for sinners.” Claire’s brow remained raised; she was talking to a ghost, an actual real-life, remarkably friendly ghost. “A good pastor will always watch over his church, his flock, and his parish.”

Claire’s head pounded, “I need to get my stuff.” Beneath her clothes Claire’s skin itched, “And lie down,” side stepping away she gave a half hearted shrug, “In a circle of salt.” Gathering her jacket round her torso Claire’s smile failed to meet her eyes, “You understand, right?”

*-*-*

Another nap, another drama. Serenity invaded her dreamscape this time. Gone were the disfigured wildlife and creepy as get out trees. It was warmer now, with cotton candy clouds and Justin Bieber music playing in the background; a complete turn around from the pervasive chill and predatory flora that’d clung on and refused to let her go. Standing still to peer around Claire’s eyes captured the outline of her night time invader. Disfigured and alone it lingered on the outskirts of her sub-conscious. Wetting her lips Claire conjured a swing set, baby blue with a lake and two little rubber ducks floating a top of it. Bright gaudy colors and echoes of her nice, _safe_ childhood where the scariest thing she’d ever encountered was an Eagle Scouts grading. “I’m not coming over there.” She reiterated calmly a hand half heartedly gesturing towards the swings. The frame formed a barrier between her and it, fingers clung protectively to the structure as she watched her dreams distort again. Colors faded to greys and whites, all energy and life swept up in the thing that ghosted closer. 

“You heard me.” It noted, “I hoped you would.”

Straightening her spine to take full advantage of her five foot four inches Claire squared her jaw uncertain on what exactly to say.

“I’ve been trying to find you for so long.” It continued, fluid in form and realigning consistently to maintain a familiar shape. 

Well that made it easy. “Why?”

“I need help Claire, you.”

“Okay.” Hackles lifted on the back of her not-so-real neck. Maybe if she could wake herself up then everything really would be alright. “I don’t know you.”

The thing, sometimes almost human in appearance others little more than an expanding and contracting cloud, stiffened. “If an angel is summoned to a consenting vessel it can reside there.” Claire didn’t need to see a face to know that this thing was picking its words carefully. “I … encouraged you to do so.”

“No way.” She _knows_ ; what Castiel is, how she feels and that is why Claire knows that this is not Castiel. “No. Way,” It cannot be, Castiel wasn’t this mean or underhanded or anything. Sure she was fast on her feet during previous occupation but she was strong, sure, powerful. Claire remembered the unbearable heat that crept up her body from the inside until it radiated out. Eating away at her awareness until all that had remained were inarticulate snippets of the world round her. That had been wondrous and terrifying, a fire that had consumed her pain and horror at witnessing her father being whisked away by the most amazing yet cruel person she had ever had the pleasure to meet. There was nothing in this scene, this melding of minds that was magnificent or awe inspiring. No searing heat or sense of structured chaos. This thing, this entire situation operated on Claire’s command.

“I need time to recover.” Castiel continued. “And make amends.”

“And say I want you to leave?” Claire countered. “Like, right now.”

“I’d have no place to go.”

Okay, no real surprise there, all the disappointment that had threatened to consume her in that warehouse was offset by the certainty that dad was coming home one day. Sure, it’d been easy to avoid the video, not so simple ignoring the headlines and mug shots all over the newspaper. It didn’t matter now if Castiel brought him back somehow. The thing that had stolen their shared face had ruined that pipe dream. It’d taken time to readjust post angel, to separate out the voices in her head from the whispers of Heaven asking for a taste. The idea that something else had taken residence along with him and done this to Castiel made Claire’s blood cool.

“And it’s unlikely I’d survive.”

Claire relaxed her grip on the swing frame, the world around her dulled, and ducks stilled on the water. Face blank her gaze set firmly upon Castiel, composure reigning in a subconscious desire to slouch in self defeat. “You know you’d probably rock at hustling pool.” She grumbled, “What do I have to do?”

Castiel drew herself together, stretching and manipulating ethereal spindly limbs into a plume that shot from near her center. Compressed down so that she no longer billowed and flowed above Claire’s head, Castiel edged forward round the frame until she was no more than a foot away. “Let me recuperate for a while.” On what could qualify for a mouth a dark hole appeared and contorted into a crescent angled upwards. “Listen to my advice, nothing more.” 

“Then you go and make everything better.”

“Those terms are acceptable.” Already the energy that had gone into forming a more identifiable form was beginning to ebb. Spikes disintegrated before Claire’s eyes, vanishing away into a dull and lifeless background, the rest of the constructed shape blurring apart into smaller less distinct clouds.

“You look beat.” Claire said. Castiel didn’t respond to the obvious, choosing to retreat into the recesses of Claire’s dream-scape. “Hmmm.” Grey tones continued to spread about her, snaking beyond Claire’s limited line of sight. With a soft sigh she walked to the seat of the swing, finger tips fondly curling into the cold links of fake-metal. Perched on the lip of the seat she pushed on the ground rocking her self back and forth. “This really, _really_ sucks.” As she was slowly beginning to discover, the only thing worse than constant distraction was the pristine silence that haunted her now.

*-*-*

Research came remarkably easy to her. As it turned out Pastor Murphy’s presence wasn’t the only impediment to using the internet or her phone in his church. In retrospect the lack of electronic equipment should have really tipped her off. Once she walked into town things improved significantly, especially down at Pastor Gideon’s refectory. Exploration of the town highlighted how much Pastor Gideon’s regulars knew about the things that went bump in the night. Carved into door frames were warding symbols, rock salt lines were carefully maintained around windows and by doors. Demons were Gideon’s stock and trade, ghosts and spirits an adopted side line.

“People come to Blue Earth to restock or rest up.” Gideon explained on the morning of her first full day in town. “Extra hands or extra supplies the Sacrament Lutheran Militia are always willing to help. We survived an apocalypse you can bet your ass we can survive anything.”

Amongst the rows of modified shotgun shells Claire often tucked herself away, her netbook balanced on her lap scouring the internet. Words and faces filled the screen, some she typed into Google so she could save pictures to print later, others she spent an inordinate amount of time staring at trying to figure out why they were so freaking interesting. They sure didn’t look that good looking. Names became locations and locations became old myths. With a note pad open at the side of her she made notes and drew stick figures with grotesque maws. 

Her appearance wasn’t the only thing that had taken a hit, in spite of feeling perpetual exhaustion and infrequent bouts of nausea, Claire’s appetite withered away. For days on end she survived on water, a daily multivitamin and twizzlers, causing her lithe figure to shed weight from her developing frame. Cold, clammy skin tightly wrapped in a layer of polyester and denim didn’t keep an almost permanent chill out of her bones. In spite of this she managed to remain alert, functioning and focused on a group of people who meant almost nothing to her. Still, it kept her mind occupied and stopped errant thoughts of her Mom’s well being back in Pontiac from running wild. 

A fortnight into her new routine and Pastor Gideon came to see Claire up at her self proclaimed sanctuary. With doors pushed wide open he knocked on the glass pane before walking in to be hit by a pungent wave of bleach. Hands wrapped in day-glo yellow gloves Claire scrubbed the pulpit fervently with Terminite as she worked termite killer into the grain. Pausing she offered him a wane smile, “I’m killing bugs.”

“I see that.” 

Throwing the sponge into the bucket she’d brought up from Jim’s office Claire turned round on her perch at the end of the nave. “What’s up?”

Gideon paused, eyes cast downwards for a second before he looked back up. “I have something to show you.” 

Claire wasn’t sure what to make of it, the two men who brandished weapons and revelled in carnage bore a striking resemblance to the thing that had stolen her dad’s face and reputation. Air trapped in her chest thinking about it and Claire took a moment to steady her nerves. “It’s changed into them.”

“There’s more than one.” Gideon added, “Incident _and_ creature.”

“That’s not good.” Claire whispered reaching out to switch off the monitor. “You know them?”

“They came here with Castiel, you’ve met them?”

“I saw them once back when my Dad came home. They didn’t stick round long afterwards.” Claire replied her gaze disappearing to focus on middle distance, “I hope to see them again soon.” Blinking she slipped out of it, refocusing on David. “If they live that long.”

*-*-*

Reams of grey smothered all detail and design with no flecks of silver or cracks of light to be found. No matter where she looked the same lifeless color stretched out, twisting and turning, expanding and contracting all round her frame. Driven by morbid curiosity Claire tested her newly formed mental cage, her chipped nail disappearing into a faux wall before her eye.

“You can’t let them find you.” Castiel’s voice reverberated from all sides, each syllable catching and distorting in the environment all round her. 

Ice cold black liquor began to swell and churn, spiralling out from where her hand rested against the surface. Sticky as glue it flowed over her knuckles, pulling her in. Braced against it she tugged only for the counter pull to suck the limb in deeper. Underfoot sewage seeped through the ground swelling up to swirl round her legs. Splashing up onto her shins Claire barely had the chance to steady herself before the walls began to move. Darkness consumed the relative sanctity of the grey matter surrounding her, cascading inwards in a tsunami of black ooze that came crashing towards her. “Castiel!” 

“They can never find you.” 

Violently she pulled against the wall twisting fiercely against the vortex that was going to eat her whole. It struck with the force of a hurricane and sent her into freefall, spinning and choking in a riptide of liquid that soaked in through her pores and weighed down the fake-cloth she wore. Tossed aside and thrown into the walls her figure ricocheted brutally from translucent edge to viscous pit of pitch black tar. Desperately she clawed at her surroundings looking for purchase to prise herself free from a vortex that was determinedly dragging her down deeper and deeper. On impact air was knocked from her lungs leaving her cold, alone and stifling sobs. 

As if alive, liquid trickled from her figure, leaving strands of stained blonde hair and the swathes of cloth torn following her rough descent into some new kind of Hell. Spines crossed and interwove to form a figure made of serrated crystals complete with needle like teeth. A statue brought to life the surface cracked and groaned as it swayed and moved, forcing itself from its place of origin with an ear piercing screech. Pitiless pools where eyes should be looked down upon Claire’s splayed figure, a serpentine foot lifted from the bleak waste to press down onto her shoulder blade. 

“This wasn’t my intention.” Castiel’s disembodied voice whispered,”I’m sorry.” 

“Get me out of here.” Claire whimpered, torn fingernails grasping at the leg of the monster that pinned her. Turning sharply she pulled backwards, flesh scraped from her breast in the process. “You stay with me on my terms.” She whispered wiping away black tears from her eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ scare me like this again.”

“Leviathan cannot find you. Don’t let them touch you; I can’t save you if they do.”

Shaking limbs lifted Claire to her feet, drawn back to her full height she glanced round. The scene shifted; black statue stretched and contorted, realigning to form a magnificent pair of dark wings. Brittle and sharp they exploded into fine dust, fracturing the space round her. Arms wrapped reflexively round her body and head cowed low, Claire didn’t dare move until the scene settled down. They were everywhere, muted by grey and sepia. People, their eyes open and unseeing, work suits torn and dishevelled. As the area warmed remnants of black goo hardened on Claire’s skin allowing her to pick at it and flick it away. Flecks of silver glinted in muted light offset by the eerie appearance of black. Everywhere she turned more and more specks of black began to appear curving outwards from unmoving corpses. 

Claire’s jaw set firm, eyes widening at the sight. No wonder she’d felt their panic and fear. Heard them squabble and close in on her. Inhaling slowly she looked up at a distinct malformed half human outline. “What. Did you do?”

Castiel form flexed outward before descending inwards. “Something incredibly foolish.”

Sweat had soaked through the sheets twisted tightly round her body. Fuelled by adrenaline Claire sat up barely registering aching muscles and began to uncoil the cotton from round her frame. Flicking her head every few seconds to keep strands of hair from her eyes she grimaced at a row of deep scratches cross her collar bone. Bubbling with blood she wiped at it with the corner of one sheet. “Great.” She murmured, “This is totally your fault.” Claire added glancing at the injuries in a hand held mirror. It took a moment for her to register a pang of regret that seemed to spring from nowhere. A half smile spread on her face, “At least you’ve got the decency to feel bad about it.” 

*-*-*

Gravel crunched underfoot, grinding into the soles of Claire’s worn shoes; her routine had evolved over the course of the last week. To further halt any more violent nightmares (with added accidental self mutilation) she’d taken to sleeping in town under the supervision of Pastor Gideon, who promised to wake her at the first sign of trouble. Nearing Pastor Murphy’s church it took a second to realize the difference in the air. The delicate fragrance of gun oil, a pungent odour that hadn’t assaulted her nostrils since she arrived in Blue Earth weeks ago. Pausing at the wide oak doors shrewd eyes skimmed over decades of history and cracked stained glass. A flicker in the reflection prompted Claire to draw a steely breath in. Hesitant, her hand pressed against the wooden surface closely followed by an ear straining to hear anything through the ornate glass. There was more movement from inside a gentle scraping captured and amplified by the acoustics within. Taking a half step back Claire stared at the door, it didn’t look all that different. The wood was dotted with the tell-tale sign of a now dealt with termite infestation; the lock didn’t look any more damaged than it had since her forced entrance. Most importantly Pastor Murphy hadn’t made any attempt to tell her it was a no-good-very-bad-idea to come in.

“Alright then.” 

Jim could protect her from anything untoward. Gritting her teeth she shifted the weight from the balls of her feet to the door letting it creep open.

_Click_

“Aw Man.”

Near translucent fishing wire ran the length of the floor all the way up to the door handle, presumably taut Claire’s brazen entry had caused it to go. With the door held steady she peered round the side, eyes resting on the double barrel shot gun fixed to the rear of one pew. A web of wire and clasps spread before her limited view. Pincered between one open door and one closed Claire’s frail figure might as well have a big old target painted on it. Twisting her head the other way she spotted a dark grey shadow swinging back and forth. Scraping her hand over the wood she gritted her teeth and pushed forward arms instinctively lifted to protect her head as the temperature dropped.

Cowered on the floor to the side of the doorway Claire glanced up at the outline of Pastor Murphy fading from her view, his hand rested on the side of the shotgun its position now drastically altered. Shaking his head he flickered from sight.

“Dean, you saw that?”

“Yea Sam, I did.”

“Friendly neighbourhood ghost.” Claire muttered straightening her arms and clambering to her feet.

Standing there, scuffed and sweaty it became clear. They didn’t recognize her. Like at all.

Nervously Claire drew hair from her face, eyes assessing and weighing their surprised expressions carefully. The bags they’d brought with them looked pretty full and their firearms didn’t look to be getting lowered anytime soon. A face full of lead was totally not the way she wanted to finish her morning. “Surprise?” Nope not a clue, she couldn’t blame either of them, it wasn’t like she’d developed breasts and found an extra foot and a half since the last time they’d briefly seen her. “Seriously?” Teeth bit into her lower lip in trepidation. “I’ve been waiting on you guys for like ever.” 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Dean’s hand came up palm open telling her to stay put. “Who are you?”

“I _really_ think it’d be easier if I showed you.” Claire pointed out, “I’m not a leviathan if that’s what worrying you.”

“We’re going to need more than your word on that.” Sam told her.

Claire’s expression soured, lips pursed and breath held. Castiel had been a little choosy in her decisions on what to share and not for the sake of ‘expedience’. Honest to God if Claire made it through the next couple of minutes she was going to kill her. “How do I do that?” 

“We need to see your blood.”

The who with the what and the why now. Reaching up Claire pulled the collar of her laundered tee down, revealing the partially healed scratches from earlier in the week. “And I’ve got some awesome bruises from where I slipped on the stairs.” Bending over she rolled up the leg of her pants to reveal oblong blotch curling round her calf. “It really hurt.”

The brothers lowered their weapons, tucking them away with the skill and confidence of men who were way too familiar with them. Seeing Dean reach for his switch knife Claire shrugged her shoulders, quick to interject “You look pretty human to me.” No monstrous teeth forced into a cavity that was too small, no ripples of grey-black smoke pulsating beneath the skin surrounding pitch black pools where eyes should be. There was a little wear and tear round the edges, some fraying that was more notable where Sam was concerned. Other than that, Claire saw what she imagined two healthy, humans would present as. They certainly didn’t have the crude pallor and malformed body mass like their doppelgangers on television. “You got to understand something: she doesn’t tell me anything by choice. It’s all weird dreams and bizarre day vision and occasional flashes of stuff she doesn’t want me to know about.”

Shaking his head Sam repeated his brother’s question, “Excuse me but _who_ are you?” 

“I’m Claire.” Zip. Nada. Buttkiss. She hadn’t rolled her eyes in weeks, such a small normal gesture felt entirely foreign now. “Like I said, it’ll be easier if I show you.”

Ignoring the scent of ammonia in the stale air Claire showed the Winchester’s her work. Where once Pastor Murphy’s speculation on demons and demonic lore had been carefully spread Claire had placed pictures of people, newspaper clippings and hand scrawled notes on water works across the country. Pictures of her dad were taped over diagrams and sigils she dreamt of over several nights and had felt the need to hastily record on whatever piece of paper she could find. Walking round the outside of the room she lent against the back of the chair where Pastor Murphy used to sit, the wheels rolling over the uneven carpet.

“Alright. I see Cas.” Dean’s hand flipped out to the articles, “And a buncha other stuff.”

“No,” Claire corrected Dean automatically, “My dad.” Head dropped low she began to rifle through her notes muttering, “or at least the thing that _looks_ like my dad.” Collected together she held out a copy, “Anyway like I was saying, I don’t know what it means, I just know it’s important and it’s something you should have.”

She didn’t like the way they looked at her. It was a touch incredulous with a smattering of wariness. With a twitch of her head she put them down on the edge of the desk, and offered them a nervous smile. It’d be pretty great if they’d stop glancing at each other like they were having some sort of telepathic conversation and clued her in. Actually that’d be beyond great and hurtling into the realm of freaking awesome. Arms folded Claire couldn’t help but spot Sam digging his fingers into one hand like it was the last pit stop on some wild and wonderful tour. 

“Facebook mostly.” After being plagued by silence for so long there was no way she was going to let a pesky thing like nerves keep her quiet. Carrying on the conversation felt like a good thing to do. Everyone knew that if you wanted to find someone you hit up social media first and anyone who was anyone always had a FB account. “I guess they’re leviathan.” She offered, “I get a feeling about something and I follow it up. That’s how we work.”

“What are you?” 

In the basement they heard an engine come grinding to a stop. Internally Claire felt the shift from mild frustration and bemusement to cold fear. Her features smoothed with the change in mood, ‘They’ve been looking for them.’ Castiel’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. “Stay here.” Claire instructed, “I’ve got this.” Lying to adults was second nature. She tucked her hair into the collar of her shirt, her hand catching the door before she left. ‘I’ve got this’.

*-*-*

Row after row of translucent teeth were all that Claire could see tucked beneath the distorted mask of the man standing in front of her. To make matters worse she could see a network of black lines traversing exposed flesh where blue veins ran beneath skin. Beady oval eyes stared out at her flecked with brown from the poor man that’d been taken. ‘Chet’ Castiel informed her, the interruption making her shoulders twitch. And all Claire could do was her level best not to stare at anything or go running back down the stairs. Demons were creepy; this thing with its thousand mile stare made her skin crawl. 

“Where are they?”

“Who?”

“The Winchesters; their car’s outside, their bags are on the floor and you’re not seriously going to tell me you jerry rigged _that_.”

Mind going blank Claire blurted out the first thing to come to mind, “Well they’re not here.” 

“You wouldn’t qualify as an appetizer.” Chet snarled.

That was it. Turning on her heel Claire went back the way she came crashing into Sam and Dean at the foot of the stairs. “Leviathan.” Grabbing at their arms she pulled them back surprised at the extra strength that surged through her frame. Shutting the door she stared at them half apologetic. “What are we going to do?”

“Well what have you got down here?”

Shaking her head Claire started to babble, “Philips screwdriver, pen knife, crowbar – iron, half a bag of rock salt, book of matches, bleach, Terminite, toilet cleaner, recorded exorcism, holy water.” Pushed out of the way by the brothers Claire watched them wrestle the desk into place. “File, the pins in the walls. There’s a radio under the pulpit.” She met their looks head on, “We don’t get cell coverage up here.”

“Great.” Dean muttered.

Laughter bounced off the walls on the other side of the door. One slow _thud_ after the other Chet’s footsteps bounded off the stairs. “Rats in a trap, Man. You know, I thought this was going to be hard. A real challenge.”

“Pass me the cleaning supplies.”

Pressed to the side of the room Claire remained still, this was way too freaky to be a good thing, way too scary and far too real. From somewhere within serenity started to pulsate out, granting her the opportunity to think. Grasping the screwdriver from the sideboard Claire turned to the window, scrambling on top of the office chair to get a better look at the security bars painted into place years ago. Up here the noxious mixture of bleach, bug killer and toilet cleaner was strong enough to make her choke. With a quick thrust Claire managed to get a hole into the glass. 

“We can’t get through there.”

Two screws out, Claire looked back over one shoulder, “Swingy weapon thingy.” Articulation under pressure was totally her thing. “You?” 

“Blind it and run to the bags.” Dean muttered, head pulled back from the swirling mess. “Get a hit or two in and retreat.”

Working on the next screw along Claire started to tug working free multiple screws at once, tucking the screwdriver into the back of her pants, both hands wrapped round the intersected black bars to push and pull at it until it creaked free. “Got it.”

The first thud onto the door made the desk skip back a couple of inches. Claire nearly dropped the bars when Pastor Murphy flickered into the room causing pages pinned on the wall to flutter. Chill air ran over the skin of the room’s living occupants as he placed his spectral hands down onto the desk. “Those bars are iron.” With a grimace the ghost pushed back against the next crash of the door. “I died in here.” He pointed out, “There are worse places to make a last stand.”

“Dean,” Sam’s cell phone was up the camera skimming over the open space until it stopped on the space that Claire was looking at. “It’s Pastor Jim.”

“Get ready to go.” Dean replied. Grim faced he held the bin in preparation to throw.

“Somehow I expected something more.” Chet’s voice came muffled through the wood. “Something challenging.” Another bang hit the door making everything jolt. On the third time the door came off its hinges allowing for an arm to come through. Grappling against the grain a shoulder followed, dislocated from its joint with a sickening pop. Another heft and the creature’s arm and shoulder were through, back braced against the door to give better leverage. 

“Here we go!” In slow motion Dean dumped the contents onto the head of Chet, with Pastor Jim’s help the desk was sent aside and the door thrown open. A squeal escaped unbidden from her lips as the leviathan crashed down onto the floor his face melting. Skin slipped from muscle and bone revealing tendon and elongated tooth. Stunned Claire stared at the creature when it struck the floor gasps of pain coming out of Chet’s distorted mouth. Grabbed and hauled along by Sam she was out the door, head turned back staring at the convulsing monster, metal bars clattering over threadbare carpet before bouncing off every stair as they ran. 

In the nave Sam’s hand left her arm, ushering her out of the way. It was happening so fast. Dean bent over one of their bags rustling round for something useful and Sam rushing to join him. ‘Let me help.’ Castiel whispered while she loitered still lightly clinging to the window guard. “Okay.” Claire whispered, “Okay.” It was a strange sensation to be physically aware and mentally in control yet emotionally detached. Like a surgeon’s knife the adrenaline and nerves calmed, filtered and controlled by Castiel. 

“Where is it?” Claire could see Dean’s head pop up level with the rear of the pew a shotgun barrel revealing his weapon of choice.

“I don’t know.” She called back, blood no longer pounded so loudly in her ears that it drowned out all other sound and thought. Darting to the pulpit she retrieved the walkie-talkie before moving swiftly down past the Winchesters towards the open church door. Huddled by their weapons bags she rummaged through all the tools, a machete, sheathed knives and a couple of guns she didn’t know the name of. One thing was for sure, their weapons cache was ten times more badass than her meagre selection. Squatted low she didn’t flinch at the sound of gunfire, nor did she react when Sam’s shadow fell over her to grab the machete and toss it to his sibling. Peering up she watched Dean disappear down the stairs to return a moment later with a suspicious lump wrapped in his over shirt.

“Did we win?” 

“Yea, I’d say we won. Now we got to figure out what was in that bucket that dropped it.”

Fumbling with the button on the side of her radio she contacted Pastor Gideon, her message succinct; “Pastor, can you bring some bleach, Terminite and toilet cleaner to the abandoned church.” Putting the radio down Castiel glanced across at Sam then round for Dean, expression neutral, eyes focused on nothing. “I am sorry.” She announced quietly, swerving from one hot topic to the next in the blink of an eye “Do you have bolt cutters?”

Castiel carried Claire with more purpose, shoulders back and head lifted. This was temporary, a brief exertion of power to deal with the distinctly less tasteful elements of this incident. No doubt existed in her consciousness that Claire would give her Hell for this when things settled down. Nursing the bolt cutters against one shoulder Castiel carefully unfolded Dean’s shirt to stare at Chet’s disfigured head. With the tip of the cutters she chased the tooth down until she found the root canal. Grimacing she pressed the blades together severing one tooth after another from the leviathan’s mouth. “They’re cannibals.” Castiel explained calmly, methodically repeating the action again and again, careful to avoid the spatter and to keep the semi-transparent teeth from the rest of the head. “So if anything will leave a lasting mark on their flesh these should.” Hair fell forward over her brow as she worked, “It was reciprocal.” A thin smile spread when she reached the end of the jaw line, “I saw what they saw, I know what they know. What I don’t know is what caused this.” Pulling hair from her vision Castiel looked up sheepishly. “Claire will help me recuperate and I’ll help you.” Skimming energy from Claire’s soul was in no ways a tasteful task. Already physical consequences were becoming apparent upon her figure, leaving Claire’s body incapable of being able to truly function fully; nutrients that buoyed skin and hair were stripped away to keep her system functioning while Castiel grew steadily stronger and stronger through the only source available to her.

“You don’t think you’ve done enough damage?” Dean countered.

“I can only make good on my promise if I recover.” Castiel replied quietly, “and Claire is all I have. When my health is restored I will correct any damage that remains.” 

Inhaling deeply she held everything still before tension melted out of her frame. Claire stared at them both suspiciously. At her feet in the folds of flannel were the remains of Chet’s meticulously dissected jaw and opposite her were two guys she barely knew looking at her like she had sprouted a second head. 

“Was that Cas?”

That explained a lot. “I guess.” Shrugging helplessly Claire edged away from the bits. “She’s cashing in a favor.”

“What are you?”

“A girl, most of the time I’m just a girl.”

The echo of another motor cut through the tension building in the room and never before had Claire been glad of another person showing up.

*-*-*

 

Boric acid, also known as hydrogen borate, looked like a flower when drawn out on to the page. Dotted amongst Enochian sigils and half hearted attempts at love hearts Claire had been studying it the day she’d left Pontiac. Amongst its many traits, including being an antiseptic and a flame retardant, it ate through the gooey, invulnerable exterior of a leviathan with the ferocity of a bush fire in California. All things considered, eleventh grade chemistry had its uses in the wider world.

Filing her notes away Claire glanced up to smile at the Winchester’s when they came in to say goodbye. “Hey.” It was still super weird seeing them face to face like this, half expectant looks on their face, “Here, I made a do over.” No doubt it’d be less bizarre if she felt any kind of connection to them the same way they did towards her invisible super-secret passenger. “That’s everyone from before.” A small half smile spread, “I think.”

Goodbye felt like it was coming, “Good luck out there!”

They paused before heading out awkwardly Claire lifted a hand up to give a nervous wave. “Same to you.” Disappearing back into the Impala she watched them drive away. The next time they crossed paths again it would be way too soon and God willing no where near as scary.

“Not how you thought you’d spend your eleventh grade?” Pastor Gideon asked.

“Not in the least,” Claire replied, “Not in the least.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank tawg for running [info]jimmybigbang and being an awesome last minute beta, alpha and cheerleader while I was writing this story and freaking out. That said, any remaining errors that may appear are either an oversight on my part or creative style.
> 
> I'd like to send out huge thanks to slinkymilinky for being an awesome working partner and artist, and she has gifted me with two truly beautiful pieces of art that deserve all the kudos and praise in the world. So be sure to let her know.
> 
> Finally, I welcome and encourage constructive critcism so if any reader feels the need to comment on something don't hesitate to contact me.


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